


An Anchor

by Nebulad



Series: To Live Without Fear [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abelas follows Inquisitor Lavellan to fulfill his duty to the Well of Sorrows, but even he knows the link between the new Keeper Saevin and Mythal is tenuous at best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Your clan is impressive,” Abelas offered, falling into step beside Saevin once they left the gathering tent. Enasalin was welcoming back its Keeper and hunters, and they’d only just finished briefing everyone on what had happened. The Inquisition was no more, but the Dread Wolf was coming— what was to be done about it was a matter for later. Saevin had only the barest guess at the consequences of him destroying the Veil, and would prepare as many as she could for the chaos.

“How uncharacteristically charitable of you,” she returned, rolling her shoulders. Her chainmail was growing heavy after a long night and she was eager to be rid of it and go to _bed._ She felt like she hadn’t slept in ages, and the Exalted Council had exhausted her worse than Corypheus could ever hope to.

“Have I been unkind?” he asked, but his tone implied that he didn’t particularly care one way or another. That, Saevin had discovered, was his default way of speaking and had no real bearing on how he felt about a topic.

“I seem to remember— well, several people telling me that I am not a _real_ elf and my people aren’t _real_ elves. Some things were said about my _vallaslin_ too,” she reminded him. He inclined his head but said nothing until they were back in her personal tent. She shrugged off her jacket and got to work on the bindings of the chainmail.

“You may also recall that I was awoken by the sound of sentinels dying as the sanctum I guarded was assaulted.” He didn’t sound angry, but Saevin immediately regretted bringing it up at all. It was difficult to put Abelas’ experiences in context before speaking of them.

“I’m sorry,” she offered immediately, but he shook his head.

“I assumed you had come to take from us something you viewed as rightfully yours. I put you in your place before you left it,” he told her, and she shrugged.

“Not the first, not the last.”

“Perhaps unkind, though,” he mused. “I have met Dalish who insist they are the sole arbiters of Elvhenan— your clan acknowledges that your way of life is unique to modern elves.” That was fair enough, she supposed. There was a clan in southern Ferelden who’d had a Keeper who supposedly lived to be centuries old— none of them could even confirm that he had died, only able to say that he was no longer their Keeper. They were pretty snotty.

“Aren’t we special?” she said, shrugging out of her armour (finally) and into something softer and looser. She looked over at him, who kept standing stock still near the doorway. “Will you at least sit down?” she asked. Ever since he had decided to follow her— what was left of his duty to the Well, she supposed— she hadn’t seen him sleep or relax. It was… unnerving.

“I must be on guard,” he reminded her.

“We’re in camp. I have hunters,” she returned.

“You will forgive me if I say that does not reassure me. They are impressive, but they are hardly a match for whatever magic the Dread Wolf wields.” His eyes fluttered to her left arm and away again, saying what he was thinking without words. Solas had her Mark now, and she had strict orders from her healers not to even attempt prosthetics until the arm had gone through the full healing process _(and yes Keeper, that includes any sort of magical limb you try to summon)._

“Your sentinels are on guard,” she said, leaning back and sighing when her head hit the pillow.

“As am I. Sleep, Inquisitor.”

“I’m not the Inquisitor,” she reminded him.

“Go to sleep, Saevin,” he said with a bit more edge than before. She laughed and crawled under her blankets, sighing out evenly. “Do you not put out your hearth before you rest?” he asked.

“Kept it on for you so you could read or something,” she mumbled, already drooping. She had her eyes closed, but could tell when the light disappeared— he hadn’t smothered the fire, so she assumed he’d used magic and made a mental note to ask him about it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this forever and now here it is as part of my promise to not stop publishing fic even now that I'm working on something original (working slowly, please don't over estimate me). [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) in case you have a need for more Fallout and Dragon Age content on your Tumblr dashboards.
> 
> Also we see Abelas for like thirty seconds total so I'm gunna go ahead and say that he's probably less of a douche than Solas was. We'll probably never know but that's my opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

Abelas was no Dalish, but he could appreciate the culture. Children ate hearth cakes while adults imbibed some sort of fruity alcohol and gossiped— and in the middle, Saevin did magic tricks for her First and other gathered children. She would only release little sparks into the air or create a storm in her palm, but the young were delighted.

She caught him watching and gestured him over. He shouldn’t have gone— he made the clan nervous as did his sentinels, no matter what their Keeper said— but did as she bade because wasn’t that what he had told himself he would do? The last of Mythal in this realm, he would serve her until he inevitably failed in that as well.

“Can you do magic?” she asked, and he nodded. The gathered children were watching expectantly and he… wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Did she wish him to perform? He knew no ambivalent little spells. His magic, as his training with weapons, were meant to be used for a purpose beyond entertainment. Sentinels were not the slaves that performed party tricks.

“I can use it as one would use a warhammer or a blade,” he informed her shortly.

“Not even a little magelight?” she asked. He burst into veilfire, making a few of the younglings shriek and some adults spill their drinks. Saevin jumped, but laughed nervously and reached out. The fire did not burn— it was no true fire, but a reflection as everything else in this world was— and she passed her hand around him curiously. “Can you teach?” she asked.

“How to summon veilfire?” As if he’d done anything else of note besides hover around her.

“Yeah— can we do it, or are we too contemporary?” she asked, half teasing. He wondered why. She would certainly be disappointed if he said _no you are not able to use this magic—_ perhaps it was a jab at his age. Futile if so. Time was a confusing concept that he didn’t apply to himself.

“ _You_ cannot. The children can,” he said, looking down at the crowd and snuffing himself. Most of them shuffled away, but Saevin’s First and two others stayed.

“Why can’t I learn?” the Keeper asked indignantly.

“It would strain your injury,” he reminded her. She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and he turned his attention back to the children. “Only a few wish to try?”

“They aren’t all mages, Abelas.” _Ah._ He’d forgotten that the gift was not bestowed on all the descendants of the Elvhen— another thing the Wolf bemoaned that he was the source of.

“Do they have roles?” he asked. Saevin didn’t respond, which he assumed meant that the children were meant to answer for themselves. One by one they reported in awed little voices.

“I want to be a hunter, _haren.”_ The bravest one began, the closest to him save for the mage children. Abelas nodded solemnly.

“What is your weapon of choice?” he asked, and Saevin snorted just as the boy cast her a frown.

“The Keeper won’t let me pick up a weapon until my birthday,” he said. Abelas turned to look at Saevin who nodded in affirmation

“Less little eyes get put out with arrows that way,” she said shortly. “And the hunters agreed so don’t try to tattle on me.”

“Clan Enasalin spreads itself thin by forcing the warriors to care for noncombatants in an emergency situation,” he commented. Saevin shrugged.

“Do you expect an attack?”

“I always do, and you would do well to act more cautiously.” The Wolf would not hunt her— he was far too sentimental for that— but he was also a poor general. He did not demand obedience from his troops, and so they defaulted to their own leaders. Those with power after so long without were not always to be trusted.

“By giving kids weapons?” she asked.

“I had a bow in my hand at the age of three. I was at a disadvantage as many of my peers had already chosen their favourite weapon by then,” he told her sternly.

“What was your favourite?” That had no bearing on what he was trying to explain to her.

“I had none. My body has always been a vessel for the will of the gods— I learned every weapon so I could more fully adapt in battle.”

“But which did you _like?”_ she insisted. The children were looking up at him curiously too.

“Does it matter? I am skilled in all of them.” He had never formed a preference. A weapon was a weapon was a weapon and what mattered was knowing that he would never be helpless.

“It matters because you can’t just carry all of them around with you,” she pointed out.

“I summon them,” he told her. “As you do.”

“I like a broadsword,” she said, then frowned. “I… _liked_ the broadsword.”

“You weaken yourself by admitting defeat,” he scolded. “After you are finished healing we can begin to compensate for the loss of your limb. I knew a sentinel who suffered the loss of her legs— she devised a special saddle that allowed her to fight on the backs of halla.”

“ _Cool!”_ The children drew close again.

“Indeed. Your Keeper has a great legacy to follow if she wishes— one of my fellow sentinels engaged with a spirit of courage when they lost their sight, and though the spirit knew nothing of the bow, its direction paired with my friend’s skill allowed them to aim true,” he said. He still remembered hearing the booming voice of the spirit calling out which way to turn.

“Is the Keeper going to summon spirits?” the First asked cautiously. He was a mousey little boy with large glasses that sat oddly on his small face.

“If she believes she is able— it was easier to do before, when there was no Veil to keep them away,” Abelas explained. The mage children looked horrified, but Saevin grinned.

“Spirits aren’t so frightening— always be wary of demons, but there is no reason to creep through the Beyond as if it were filled with bear traps. Our ancestors breathed the Fade, and we will have to learn to do the same soon,” she said. She did not mention Fen’harel— perhaps to save them some fear.

She pestered him for a while longer about his weapon of choice, unconvinced that he was his _own_ weapon— the children eventually attempted to join in when Abelas did not react negatively to their Keeper’s irreverence. By the end of the night he had promised to teach the veilfire trick and several weapon skills to gaggles of differently specialized children, and admitted that he would have to learn to make his own weapons from those more interested in craftsmanship than battle. It would be a useful skill, no doubt— he could summon any hammer or blade, but Elvhenan had taught him the dangers of relying too heavily on magic.

He walked Saevin back to her tent, deep in thought. “You’re good with kids,” she offered, walking a bit closer to him than usual.

“Children are remarkably easy to deal with once a person begins listening to them as people with something to contribute,” he agreed. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d still refused to allow them to train in weaponry before a certain age.

“They have a lot to say.” She sidestepped the topic, then nudged him a little (or attempted to). “Do you… really think I could use a broadsword again?” she asked haltingly.

“There is no point in trying to decide either way before you’ve healed, but with ingenuity and dedication I see no reason you couldn’t attempt to relearn your skills.” There were, of course, sentinels who had suffered some injury and been forced to retire to less strenuous work— bookkeeping and animal rearing and accounting were all popular choices— and shifting their priorities made them no less remarkable.

If Saevin found her fighting skills to be too difficult after the trauma of losing her arm, there were other ways she could contribute to the war effort, especially as a mage. Healing, research, strategy, record-taking… the possibilities for as clever a woman as her were nigh endless.

She reached out to squeeze his wrist and he decided to save that speech for later, though. There was no use discussing _what-ifs_ until she required them, and he would rather not temper her determination to relearn her skills until she had a more solid idea of where her injury had put her. It would not hurt to encourage her, and his comrades who had retired from a life of battle were much more inspiring when not used as some sort of mollification.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still going it's like five chapters dw about it


	3. Chapter 3

Saevin watched the smoking battlefield, grateful that her hunters had agreed to let her attend to this alone. “The Wolf’s work,” Abelas intoned next to her, his hands folded behind his back.

Almost alone.

He was wearing his shiny golden armour of Mythal, although he forewent the hood (she liked his hair so she made certain not to mention the difference), and glittered in the setting sun. The ground before them was scorched and the remains were unidentifiable.

She hummed in agreement, her neck aching.

“You did not believe him capable of slaughter.” It was a statement, not a question. Saevin nodded, because she hadn’t. He’d told her that he had grown to view the denizens of this world as people, and yet… this wasn’t indicative of a newfound respect for life. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“I’m sorry I had to find out at all— but _ma serannas,”_ she said, turning her head. “If we ride all night we can reach Nevarra by—”

“We will not be doing that,” he said, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” she insisted tersely.

“Then we will ride away, but stop to make camp. You need to be rested to represent your people when the time comes.” They hadn’t wanted to listen to Saevin in any sort of prudent timeframe, and now they begged for her with Solas clawing at their heels. “It is devastating but it is war. He reveals too much to you by leaking his battle plans.”

“You think he leaked them on purpose?” she asked, starting to move to the harts.

“I do. I have already sat through a war with him at the helm, and he is meticulous— the plans could not have been revealed to you unless he wanted you to see what he was capable of.” She sighed, running her hand through her hair anxiously. That was a concerning habit— he wondered if she was sleeping well, and resolved to visit her in the Fade to check.

“Saevin.” Abelas froze and turned, immediately grabbed the Keeper and angling her so that she was shielded by his torso. He put out his hand and cast a physical barrier between the now-present Fen’harel and the two of them.

“No closer,” he warned. Solas scoffed.

“As if you could stop me.” It wasn’t a threat, but a point of pride— _solas_ was apt in this situation, and in most regarding the Wolf. Mythal had cautioned him to temper himself, before she had been killed. “Saevin—” he began again.

“Stay where you are,” she warned, trying to loosen herself from the stance Abelas had thrown them in. It was the closest she’d ever physically been to the _Elvhen_ man, and it was mildly suffocating and immensely frustrating. She hadn’t expected him to actually be a bodyguard.

“Would you stop?” he demanded, holding her left forearm so she couldn’t squirm away.

“Would you let _go?”_ she asked in return, and he dropped her. It wasn’t his right to guard her against her will— and surely the Wolf meant her no harm— but it made his ears twitch to allow it to happen regardless.

“I did not know Abelas had joined you,” Solas said. His voice was even and low; Abelas would have ventured to call it _sad._ If the man was upset it was his own fault.

“Your spies aren’t very good, are they?” She mocked him so fearlessly, and Abelas remembered at least three priests within the Temple alone who would have never _dared_ to be so brazen.

“It’s impossible to install spies into Dalish clans,” he admitted, his mouth turning to a sulk. “I barely know where you are these days.”

“Good. I don’t like what you’re doing and would keep my people as far from you as possible,” she hissed. The battlefield smoked beside them, a raw reminder that should have served as more of a warning to Solas than to the Keeper. She risked having to battle him, but in that _he_ risked having to battle _her._ He underestimated her out of sentimentality and that mistake would not serve him.

“It’s war, Saevin. This is necessary and you should _know_ that.”

“It isn’t _necessary.”_ Her voice had jumped in pitch and she gestured violently to the ashes. “None of it is _necessary_ just because you fucking _say it is.”_ Solas flinched but otherwise did not retreat. “I have business to get to. Is there anything you wanted besides hoping that I would justify what you did?”

“No.” His voice was raw and honest and Abelas shook his head. The Wolf would meet his end with her, just as his end came with the death of Mythal. He loved rarely but it was his undoing.

“Then goodbye.” Saevin swung up on her hart and turned to ride away with her shoulders set stiffly. Abelas followed her, half expecting Solas to call him back and ask if he might defect. It was true he held no real stake in this war— either the realm of his people returned and they began to rebuild what was, or everything would remain the same. War would bring post-war and Abelas would endure.

Saevin wanted both outcomes, but he didn’t bother to remind her that there was no middle ground when dealing with Fen’harel. He was as poor at compromise as he was at restraint.

When they finally stopped to camp, Saevin broke her stony silence to exhale a shaking breath. “Were you afraid?” he asked, tying the harts to a branch to keep them still.

“Not afraid… sad, maybe,” she said with a shrug. He remembered in the Temple how she had been close to him. It was never overt— the last vestiges of Solas’ discipline at work— but Abelas could tell. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll either stop, or we’ll stop him.”

“I am sorry,” he offered. It was a strange feeling— not quite pity, with far too much personal concern involved. When she moved over to lean on him, it only intensified.

“I’m lucky you came to me when you did. It would be awful to go through all this alone,” she admitted quietly. He said nothing, but put his arm around her to help her support her weight as her left arm was closest to him and couldn’t balance her.

His duty was to the Well, but he’d followed worse people than Saevin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But Solas is sad" I don't give a fuck dude plans on killing a whole bunch of people and obviously potentially includes his ex in that number and like "I will always remember you" fuck off


	4. Chapter 4

“What was your name before Abelas?” Saevin had her head resting on the crook of his hip— he was unarmoured and not on guard for the first time in recent memory. The Keeper had declared her patience at an end and insisted that he not be _hovering_ while she slept. When he asked what he was meant to do instead, she’d patted the bed beside her pointedly.

 _I have been asleep for centuries,_ he reminded her.

_So you fucked up your sleep schedule. I’ll fix it._

“What was your name before Saevin?” he asked wryly.

“I don’t count. I’m not even a fraction of your age,” she argued.

“Exactly my point. I don’t remember,” he said flatly, rolling his eyes a little.

“How do you not remember?”

“Thousands of years have passed, most of them in which I have been called Abelas. You certainly cannot remember all of your years, and neither can I.” He shrugged carelessly. It wasn’t important to him what his name _had_ been. Various gods and priests he had served had called him various things. Abelas was the name he chose for himself, no matter how mournful the circumstances were.

“Have you thought of taking on a new name?” she asked.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. In the Temple Solas told you he hoped you found a new name.”

“He didn’t— that was what he told you. He was giving me the location of his spies,” Abelas drawled. Saevin sat up.

“He _didn’t,”_ she hissed. Abelas nodded.

“They have since changed locations, otherwise I would have said so earlier.” She flopped back down on his thigh, scowling at the ceiling of her tent. “I thought you already knew, in truth. The sentinel you followed through the temple informed me you had a strong grasp of Elvish, for a mortal.”

“Flattering,” she said flatly.

“I meant it to be.” He found himself accidentally insulting her on a much more frequent basis than he intended to. He understood her sensitivity, he supposed— it was difficult to be raised as the Keeper of a fragmented culture, only to be told later that there were glaring inaccuracies. The Dread Wolf had told her, thinking he was doing her a kindness, but Abelas firmly believed that the man was incapable of kindness. In the same breath he enlightened her, he cast down her people. He did not view _effort_ as valuable, nor did he recognize that the Dalish were working with pieces of material that were only shattered because of him.

“Must have had a laugh at me when he turned and lied to my face a second later,” she said, turning to face the wall of the tent. She was still on him, which meant that the insult hadn’t been unforgivable. She’d been angrier at him before.

“No,” he assured her. “My reaction was as it has always been— I was suspicious of his intentions and didn’t care to tie myself to whatever his cause was this time. The fact that he was clearly lying to you did not endear him to me.” They’d been over this a few times and he wondered if she would ever truly trust that he wasn’t spying on her— another thing the Dread Wolf had ruined.

“You would tell me if you were a god, right?” she asked, turning back to him. A flicker of a smile crossed his face.

“I would. I am not.” Not the first time he’d reminded her of that either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grouchy old man answers the questions of local ruffian, more at 11


	5. Chapter 5

Saevin had been grinning at him for ten minutes without saying a word, and he was quickly losing the silent waiting game they played. Finally, he looked up. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.

“One of your sentinels asked me to run interference for him,” she said, still smiling like a fool.

“What could he not bring to me directly?” That was troubling— he had feared growing apart from his people with their departure from the temple, but the only other option was to stay and rot away together. Anything seemed preferable than another thousand years guarding an empty hole.

“Revas wants to marry one of my hunters.” She leaned back and waited for him to react. He was slow to give her what she wanted— Revas was even-headed and good at following orders. Abelas would have suspected that Arla would be the first to seek her fortunes elsewhere. She’d always been stifled by the strict hierarchy of the sentinels, and had been a gifted slave to Mythal. Revas had enlisted personally and never shown any signs of discontent.

“Which hunter?” he asked, mildly appalled that his own voice sounded so shocked.

“Eth.” His disorientation could not have pleased her more, but he ignored her. Eth was a blooded hunter even before Abelas had begun following Saevin. He provided well and raised a niece after his brother had been taken by Darkspawn, and wasn’t known to take undue risk or endanger apprentices— in fact, his sole realm seemed to be in training. Abelas had never thought to ask.

“Why did Revas ask _you_ to tell me?” He hadn’t known that his sentinels ever spoke to Saevin at all. She was what was left of the Well, but he’d been under the impression that the others cared little for this very tenuous tie and followed out of loyalty to their leader.

“He thought you’d say no if it was him.”

“And not if it was you?” It made sense in a distant sort of way— Abelas was the only one who had truly mourned the loss of their duty. Somewhere along the way, the other sentinels had made their peace with the world while Abelas had resisted. Perhaps Revas thought his duty to Saevin would keep him from refusing. It was an unnecessary subterfuge as Abelas would not deny his sentinels their freedom. What was the point? Saevin was not the Well by any stretch of the imagination, and neither was she troubled by having taken it. She rarely felt the geas or heard from the whispers, and if she did then she wasn’t mentioning it.

“Who could say no to this face?” she asked teasingly. A flickering smile, and then faded as fast as it had appeared. The question was, he supposed, why he bothered to stay if he could also acknowledge that Saevin was not the Well.

If he avoided thinking of the question, then he wouldn’t have to answer it.

“You’re going to tell him it’s okay, right?” She sounded uncertain.

“Of course.” If it was Revas’ wish to be free then it would be granted. There was no duty to bind him and no worthier thing than to rebuild a wasting life. “I will tell him personally.”

“Can I come along?” she asked, already half standing.

“Why?” It wasn’t a _no_ and he began walking, already assuming she would fall into step.

“Officially? Eth has to get his offering in order and Revas has to decide what role he wants to play in the clan and how to go about doing that. He seems interested in hunting but I’m worried about how much training he’ll need— I’m sure he’s fine with a weapon, but Darkspawn didn’t exist in Elvhenan,” she explained, taking his arm.

“And unofficially?” he asked.

“I love bonding ceremonies. No one is ever sad at a bonding ceremony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local hobgoblin cannot fucking count and this thing is six chapters, not five.


	6. Chapter 6

Revas took a break from beaming next to his new husband to approach Abelas, who was doing as he always did and hovering just far enough away from the festivities that he could observe, but not participate. It was not because of disapproval— the ceremony was touching in a way that few things had ever been, and the ritual was fascinating— but because he still hadn’t moved on. Revas, Arla, Mana, Hanin… they were willing to be a part of this new world, to fight for it like they had the old.

Abelas may as well have never left the temple.

“Saevin hasn’t come to pester you for brooding yet?” It was a jab, but not unkind.

“Give it a few drinks,” he returned, not moving but nodding deeply. “Once she finishes trying to outdrink your new husband, she’ll want to try and convince me to dance.” Eth was a handsome man, with deep black skin and warm brown eyes. He was round and weighty, his body matching his gentle nature. Abelas had finally asked— the man did train apprentices, and taught the prayers to _Falon’din_ on behalf of the animals the clan killed. Saevin said he might have preferred to keep the halla, but the old Keeper had been short on hunters.

“You could get in there. I seem to remember our illustrious leader holding his alcohol better than two whelps not even forty yet.” Revas didn’t exaggerate— Abelas _had_ managed to eke some joy out of life before Mythal’s death. It had been a surprise to everyone, including himself— he had been a slave, a servant, a slave again, an assassin, a mercenary… all to end up a sentinel, but it had purpose that he had lacked. With a place where he felt comfortable, he’d been able to try and relax. He’d expected to spend eternity there, after all— when he was young and still believed in such a notion as spending forever in one place.

“I wouldn’t know how,” he admitted. It had been weighing on him since he’d thought of it in Saevin’s tent, that he had no bond to this new world. He floated in the most convenient place, waiting for something new to occupy his attention. It seemed a poor way to live but he could think of no other.

“You could always do what I did,” Revas offered.

“Marry a hunter?”

“You sleep next to the Keeper every night.” Abelas failed to see what that had to do with anything. Saevin insisted that he not be hovering, and that he fix a sleep schedule he’d never had in the first place. Spending sweltering hot nights being further overheated by Saevin—

He was _not_ going to finish that thought.

“So?” It sounded less clueless than it should have.

“So if you wanted to begin again, you could try turning over.”

. . . . .

She was asleep when Abelas talked himself into it, and he hoped that she would stay that way and he wouldn’t have to… talk about it. He just wrapped his arm around her waist and waited for the humiliation that was sure to follow. “Careful now,” she muttered, and what a pleasant surprise. He wouldn’t have to wait terribly long for the regret. “Someone might start thinking you’re a cuddler.”

“Hardly,” he murmured back. “Shall I move?”

“Nope. Far be it from me to tell the handsome elf to stop touching me,” she returned. Impulsively, he leaned over and kissed the crown of her head— he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to, but dismissed it as giddiness. Saevin was not the worst anchor for a man to hold.

She reached out with her hand and twined their fingers on her hip. “Next you’ll be telling me you want to be a hunter,” she whispered.

“Don’t hold your breath.” _One thing at a time,_ and she would find sentinels more useful than hunters in the days to come. Until Solas was dealt with, Abelas would remain vigilant— and perhaps this time would turn out differently than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "this is the least romantic thing I have ever read" yeah I know but also how do you jump from "I accidentally implied the dalish are assholes again" to "ooohhhhh keeper saevin oohhhh" in six chapters? you don't. that's how. also, at the very last minute, abelas tries humour. it doesn't work. [My writing blog](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) follow for more elves and some ghouls.


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